


the happy stabby family reunion in the dementia ward

by StuckySituation



Series: brb, gotta text someone, please sir, this won't take long [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Trigger Words, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Natasha Romanov Feels, Not Canon Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Natasha Romanov, Protective Bucky Barnes, Red Room (Marvel), Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, i guess this works as standalone but just be aware that series is cap2 canon divergent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-10-26 22:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17754467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuckySituation/pseuds/StuckySituation
Summary: 1973“Natashenka?”She raises her hand to cover her ear in shock. Sheknowsthe voice in her comms. Why? How?She doesn’t know what she is going to say, and even when she does say it, she doesn’t know why she says it. “Papochka?”Her handler turns to look at her. “What did you say?”The voice in her comms sighs, relieved.“My little girl. You’re alive.”--------------------------------2014These days Bucky knows for sure only a very few things, but one of them is that Black Widow is bad news and better dead than alive....if only Steve would just fucking listen to him...--------------------------------Or: Decades before the Winter Soldier went AWOL to contact Steve during his mission, the Soldier formed an unexpected bond with one of the little girls of the Red Room.When thesefeelingsbecame a liability, HYDRA had to find a way to kill them for good.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **This is Part 2 of the series, and both prequel+sequel, focusing on events before and after the Part 1. This is _not_ a texting fic, though, like the first part was.**
> 
> If you want to read only this one and skip the first part of the series, I've put a bunch of spoilers in the end of the first chapter that should make this one readable even without the first part.
> 
> //
> 
> When I wrote the interactions between Bucky and Natasha in texting romcom, I had from the start this idea in the back of my mind that there was a lot more behind Bucky's over-the-top aggression and paranoia toward her than was revealed during that story.
> 
> This is heavily influenced by some amaze Bucky&Nat fics I've read where Soldier was used for training the girls in Red Room. It's not canon compliant, and NOT Bucky/Nat in romantic/sexual sense (their relationship used to be more of a parent-child). 
> 
> The timeline is pulled out of my ass after lots of googling and trying to piece together something that would make sense, and finally just going all 'fuck it'.

 

 

******1973**

 

_“Natashenka?”_

 

She raises her hand to cover her ear in shock. She _knows_ the voice in her comms. Why? How?  

 

She doesn’t know what she is going to say, and even when she does say it, she doesn’t know why she says it. “Papochka?”

 

Her handler turns to look at her. “What did you say?”

 

The voice in her comms sighs, relieved. _“My little girl. You’re alive.”_

 

His words are like the key to the lock that she didn’t know existed, somewhere forgotten and hidden inside her. The memories flood her, bright and messy, and she feels so young; she remembers _her Papochka,_ who was tall and strong and safety and protection and who told her he loved her, and she had to be careful, yes, she had to be careful, he was going to get her out-

 

“Papochka-” she starts with a sob, but her handler steps in and snatches the earpiece from her.

 

Her handler puts it against his own ear and listens with a frown. A second later, his eyebrows are climbing up. “Soldier? What-” His expression flattens out, his jaw sets, and he continues with: “желание, ржавый, семнадцать, рассвет-”

 

She closes her eyes and throws her hands over her ears. She doesn’t remember how she knows, but she _knows_ that those are the bad words, the words that take her Papochka away, and she doesn’t want to hear them. She wants her Papochka back, she doesn’t want to lose him again, how did she forget about him, _no no no-_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**1975**

 

_“Who are you?”_

 

“Who is this? How have you got in my comms?”

 

_“Why do you have her face?”_

 

“Whose?”

 

_“My Natashenka’s. You can’t be her. She’s-”_

 

His voice cuts off in static as her comms die out. She has to finish the mission without them.

 

The man’s voice keeps haunting her like a ghost of a dream she can’t quite recall, and she misses three shots.

 

She asks for the chair when she gets back. They have already prepared for it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**1975**

 

_“Who are you?”_

 

“Who is this? How have you got in my comms?”

 

_“Why do you have her-”_

 

His voice cuts off in static as her comms die out. Five minutes later her comms are working again, and the operative apologizes for the inconvenience.

 

The technicians are working on solving the malfunctioning, he promises her. This won’t happen again, he promises her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**1976**

 

_“Natashenka, are you there? Is it you?”_

 

She’s in the middle of the interrogation. She can’t answer the strange voice in her comms.

 

The voice breaks into incoherent sobs -- _“I’m so sorry”, “my little girl,” “it was my fault,” “I’m sorry”_ \-- before it quiets down and disappears.

 

Nobody asks her about it when she gets back from the mission, and she doesn’t mention it to anyone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**1977**

 

**(New) Unknown Number:** who are you?

 

**Natalia:** who is this?

 

**UN:** you died

 

**Natalia:** clearly not. what do you want?

 

**UN:** you can’t be her

 

**UN:** i killed her. i remember. they told me to and i

 

**UN:** you can’t be her, this isn’t real

 

**UN:** who are you?

 

Her mobile communicator is taken away from her. They say that it needs further test and development.

 

She asks who sent her the messages through it. It’s new technology, custom engineered for the missions, and only the agents should have access to it.

 

They tell her to not worry about it. It was just one technician's drunken prank, they say. It's dealt with already.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**1990**

 

**(New) Unknown Number:** you should be dead

 

It sounds like a threat. She throws her phone away and files a report to Fury.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**1997**

 

**(New) Unknown Number:** who are you?

 

**UN:** why do i know you?

 

She is in the middle of the mission and nobody but Clint should have her number.

 

She throws the phone on the floor, crashes it under her heel, and _runs._

 

She might be overreacting, but that’s the only way to stay alive in her field.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**1997**

 

_“The Asset is too unreliable. We can’t continue to send it to the field if this keeps happening when we least expect it. The Chair has not been enough to prevent malfunctions consistently and unfailingly. We don’t even know what triggered the last episode. It shouldn’t be able to remember the girl anymore, it’s been decades.”_

 

_“Don’t worry, sir. I have a possible solution. Beautifully simple solution. Give me some time, and the Asset will be in prime condition again.”_

 

_“We need it in the field. How long is this going to take?”_

 

_“As long as it needs to take, sir. It was a mistake in the first place to let Asset form a bond with the girl. We will do our best to recondition it thoroughly, but it will take time. You’ve read his files, it took them nearly a decade before it stopped asking after the Captain. And this time we need to not only make it forget, but to make sure that it will remain operational even if it faces her in the field. We need to rip apart the old memories and associations, but also put something else back.”_

 

_“Hmph. This better work, Jankowski."_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**2001**

 

Sometimes she has bittersweet dreams of someone’s arms wrapped around her, of a soft voice singing to her. There’s always a sense of fear in those dreams; not of the man, but of losing him.

 

She doesn’t know who he was. Everything she has uncovered about her past tells her that she was too young when Red Room took her in to have any memories from before.

 

It makes most sense that the ghost of the memory is of one of her handlers. Thinking about it makes her sick, especially after the nights when she wakes up sobbing, not remembering any details, but knowing deep down in her bones that the pain she is feeling was once real and had been because she had lost that person, because that person had left her.

 

She hates her dreams. She doesn’t want to cry after any of those monsters who made her what she is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**2009**

 

**(New) Unknown Number:** next time i won’t miss my shot, widow

 

**Natasha:** you’re contacting me personally to tell me that? i’m honored

 

**UN:** i know who you are. i know what you are.

 

**Natasha:** what am i? a traitor? an enemy?

 

**Natasha:** why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance? did your aim slip?

 

She is curious. Part of her wants to pull on this unexpected thread further, find out more about him. If it really is Winter Soldier contacting her, an opportunity to gather intel on the most elusive assassin of the last fifty years is simply put  _huge._

 

After a few minutes and no more messages from that number, she decides to play it safe and get rid of the phone just in case. She is still healing from the shot, far away from home, and intel on a ghost story isn’t worth taking the risk of getting tracked down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**2014** **_\- two weeks after the events in the ellis island_ **

 

**Bucky:** steve, the black widow has infiltrated the tower

 

**Bucky:** she is dangerous

 

**Bucky:**  don't come back to the tower. i'll get rid of her

 

**Steve:** bucky no. she is a friend. trust me

 

**Bucky:** she has hacked jarvis

 

**Steve:** i’m sorry. i’ll explain it to you in a minute. she hasn't hacked anything, i asked jarvis for the lockdown so you wouldn’t do anything stupid. she isn’t a threat.

 

**Bucky:** steve no, she is dangerous, she is enemy. i remember her

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Quick summary of relevant bits in part 1 (texting fic), in case you decided to skip it:**  
>  \- Shortly after the battle in New York, Winter Soldier saw Steve in TV, and contacted him via text messages. WS didn't remember Steve, but knew that he knew him and wanted to know how  
> \- Lots of drama happened. Hydra used Steve to get WS back, WS was wiped few times and few times ran away again, Steve was Very Confused about who his sporadic texting pal was  
> \- There was a fight in Belgium between WS and Natasha where Natasha got stabbed  
> \- Lots more drama. WS very aggro after learning that Steve hangs with Natasha, kept telling Steve that Natasha is dangerous. WS stalked Avenger's Tower so he could kill Natasha to protect Steve  
> \- "The Ellis Island Events" refers to the end of the part 1. Long story short: Helicarriers got destroyed, Tony saved the day, public knows that Bucky=Winter Soldier, Bucky gets to Avenger's Tower while still very confused & not recovered


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

**_Wednesday_ **

  
  
  


He _knows_ her.

 

He paces in front of the living room wall where JARVIS has projected the security camera feeds from the building. He flips the knife in his hand, his fingers itching. He grinds his teeth together.

 

He doesn’t remember from where or how he knows her. He has lost the details under the wipes, lost the way to reach for anything in his head or follow from one bit to the next in any way that makes sense. But that’s the case for almost everything. It’s his normal.

 

His memories may be tangled and messed up and confusing, but he _knows_ her.

 

He doesn’t need any details when looking at her hurts like looking straight into a searingly bright light, when it makes his stomach turn and the bile rise in his throat. Seeing her was as disconcerting as it was to see Steve for the first time. Just in the negative, opposite way.

 

Steve meant _pal_ and _warmth_ and _safe_ and _home._ She means _danger_ and _pain_ and _death._

 

He doesn’t have much, but he has his gut feelings and he trusts those.

 

Which means that Steve is _wrong._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Bucky:** black widow. i know you. i don’t care what steve says about you

 

 **Widow:** i wondered how long it would take before you got in contact again

 

 **Bucky:** you might as well make this easy for yourself

 

 **Widow:** oh soldier, do we really have to go through this all again? i’d really rather not. so repetitive and boring

 

 **Barnes:** get out of this tower before i crush you like a disgusting little bug you are

 

 **Widow:** you have a lot of nerve. my friends are hiding you from every agency looking for you right now, at their own expense, and what do you do? throw around death threats?

 

 **Widow:** you might want to rethink about that

 

He throws the knife at the wall when she smirks and puts her phone away.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Bucky:** steve we gotta move

 

 **Bucky:** she is going to reveal me to the authorities

 

 **Steve:** no she won’t

 

 **Steve:** bucky please trust me. she is a friend

 

He is locked behind the doors and Steve is _a fucking naive moron_ who is going to get himself killed.

 

He screams out his frustration.

 

He stabs the couch pillow, repeatedly. Imagining that it’s Widow’s head is at least somewhat satisfying.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_Thursday_ **

  
  
  


**Steve:** hey bucky. jarvis was concerned about you, that’s why i tried to call you. you okay?

 

He reads and rereads the message. The awareness trickles slowly back in.

 

He is sitting on the bathroom floor. Its their bathroom. Steve’s and his.

 

He knows it, but he is still confused until he remembers that they don’t live in Brooklyn anymore. It’s 2014. He is living in the tower now.

 

 **Steve:** bucky? please. i’m worried

 

Why isn’t Steve home? Where is he?

  
  
  


A dream. He had a dream. There was a little girl.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Why is he crying?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The phone vibrates. He stares at it until it stops.

 

 **Steve:** bucky? are you there?

 

Simple question. Easy.

 

 **Bucky:** yes

 

 **Steve:** thank you for answering. what happened?

 

He doesn’t want to remember what happened. He throws the phone away. It clatters against the floor tiles.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_Friday_ **

  
  
  


Steve stays home. It’s a relief.

 

Steve keeps being a moron, though, which is incredibly frustrating. “These are all of her files. There are no secrets anymore, not after she dumped them all into the internet, so go ahead, read them. She has a past, but so do you. Bucky, she is my friend.”

 

He doesn’t touch the files. (He will look at them later, intel is intel and of course he is curious to see what those files say, but right now he has a point to make.)

 

“Nothing in there is going to convince me that she is good news, Steve. I know her. There’s something really bad about her.”

 

Steve is upset with him and leaves the room. He doesn’t care.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He does care.

 

He cares too much.

 

He cares with all of his being that he cannot see Steve and what if Widow can somehow (impossibly) crawl through the tiny vents and is right now attacking Steve, or what if she has already poisoned Steve and Steve is silently dying in the next room-

 

He isn’t going to believe any of the lies she has infected Steve with, but he takes the files and goes to Steve’s bedroom.

 

Steve smiles at him.

 

He sits on the bed and opens the files. He doesn’t read them, because _fuck you Steve this doesn’t mean you won,_ but he counts all the dots, and then all the As, and then all the Bs, and Steve starts to hum and keeps smiling. It’s nice.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He realizes that he is humming along Steve. He looks up to Steve, whose eyes are suspiciously wet.

 

He stops humming. “Hey, stop leaking. You’re gonna ruin the bed.”

 

Steve laugh-sobs. “I’ll buy a new bed.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The bed doesn’t end up ruined, but his shirt sure does when Steve ends up sobbing against his shoulder few minutes later.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_Saturday_ **

  
  
  


He has a bad feeling about this. His promise to Steve was so stupid. He can’t believe himself.

 

Steve is a moron, but clearly _he_ is the bigger moron. But how was he supposed to say no when Steve looked at him like that, all earnest and pleading and _Bucky please._

 

He is pretty certain that he used to let Steve talk him into stupid things before too. He really has to learn some counter tactics before the next time Steve attacks him with those puppy eyes.

 

His fingers itch, but he doesn’t reach for any of his knives. Not yet.

 

Steve is tense beside him. “Remember, Bucky. You promised. You won’t hurt her.”

 

That wasn’t their deal, not exactly. “Only if she doesn’t try anything. And she will. I _know_ her.”

 

Steve sighs.

 

The elevator doors open and she walks in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She surprises him by not trying anything, but then again, she is all about long cons and winning over people’s trust, isn’t she?

 

She leaves their floor fifteen minutes after her arrival. He kept his eyes on her the whole time, but he sweeps the floor anyway, and then twice again, for bugs or anything else she might have left behind her. He doesn’t find anything. It doesn't prove a thing.

 

Still, Steve smiles like a moron that he is. “That went well. See, she didn’t try anything.”

 

He pauses to glare at Steve. “It’s going to be a long con then.”

 

He ignores Steve and his laughter, and finishes his third sweep of their floor.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

**_later, months later_ **

  
  
  


They live in a carefully balanced coexistence. They seemingly ignore each other, skirt around each other tensely, while always staying hyperalert in each other's company and ready to react for a slightest sign of hostility. They avoid talking to each other and they don’t look at each other, but they never turn their backs to each other or drop the sightlines.

 

There are rules, some of them negotiated and all but written down and ran through the lawyers (the most important ones: no weapons carried over the clothing when in each other’s company, no guns at all when inside the tower, and no staying ever in the same floor without Steve there as a safeguard), while some of the rules have evolved naturally (no exchanging death threats via texts past midnight; no entering the same floor before making sure the other is informed and won’t get spooked; no surveillance on each other that would breach the privacy of anyone else).

 

It has been weeks since there has been any sorts of incidents between them, and a lot longer since anything really major, and the others have started to relax and find the situation between them hilarious. Steve the least of them, because he seems the most aware of how real the danger for explosions still is, but Bucky has spotted even him sketching the two of them as prissy little cartoon cats snubbing each other.

 

Bucky hasn’t relaxed. He doesn’t find the situation hilarious. He _knows_ that Romanov is not trustworthy, that there’s something wrong about her. That she simply isn’t _safe._ That knowledge drums through his blood as certain as his love for Steve, or as his hatred for all things Hydra.

 

He might lounge on the couch next to Steve and Clint, and banter with Sam, and find Stark more entertaining than he lets on to the man, but he is never, ever going to lower his guard against Romanov. If she keeps playing nice, that’s good. But he is going to be prepared if the day comes that she decides to show her true colors for everyone to see.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s when Bucky is preparing the dinner for him and Steve that she breaks one of their carefully laid out rules: never enter the same floor before making sure the other is informed and won’t get spooked.

  
It’s when Bucky is chopping the ball peppers and stirring the sauce and humming an old lullaby he used to sing to his sisters, when she whispers from the doorway _“Papochka?”_

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**1999**

 

_“Excellent work, Jankowski. Reprogramming the most problematic phrases into new trigger words was a smart plan. Keep up the good work, and you’ll be going to places.”_

 

_“Thank you, sir. The collateral damage on its last mission was unfortunate, but-”_

 

_“Save your breath, Doctor. We saved time and resources thanks to your reconditioning. If not for your work, I have no doubt that our men would now be searching for the Asset instead of being preparing it already for its next mission.”_

 

_“Yes, sir. I hope covering up the deaths won’t prove too inconvenient. This shouldn’t become a regular incident. Especially now that the Asset is going to be transferred to the States.”_

 

_“A reliable Asset is worth some extra paperwork.”_

  
  
  
  
  
  


**2014**

 

She was on her way to Steve’s study, but the sound makes her freeze, and then turn towards their kitchen. She _knows_ that humm, she _knows_ that soft voice. It’s pulling her, calling her.

 

She stops in the doorway. His back is to her.

 

She stares and listens. She wants to reach out, both for him and for the memories that she can _feel_ swimming just beyond her reach. She doesn’t understand.

 

She doesn’t know what she is going to say, and even when she does say it, she doesn’t know _why_ she does it: “Papochka?”

 

He startles, twists fast towards her. His face is eerily slack and emotionless, yet his eyes are wide and _gone._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**1970**

 

His hand reaches out and corrects her stance. “Weight on your other foot. This arm higher.” His voice is blank. His fingers tighten around her arm. Then release. Tighten again. Let go.

 

She looks at him from the corner of her eye.

 

His eyes are cold and empty. “Try again.”

 

His handler stands at the back of the room, surrounded by skeptical looking men in suits. His handler looks annoyed. “This arrangement has already proved itself. I don’t understand why shelving it is even on the table.”

 

“This is a ridiculous use for the Asset. Its purpose is to be a fearsome and effective weapon, not to be a nanny.”

 

“This hasn’t stripped away its main purpose. It’s simply more efficient to find a use for it between the missions as well.”

 

“We all surely agree on that, but to use it as a _nanny?_ This is not how to develop a ghost story of the century.”

 

“The Asset is both the best fighter we have in our reserves and completely incapable of forming any attachments. Barring building a robot with as impressive skill set and putting it in here instead _,_ you aren’t going to find a better candidate for the emotionally neutral and sterile growth environment you wanted to test on these girls.” His handler’s voice turned smug and proud. “Give this project a few more years, and you’ll see the results when the girls are ready to be sent onto the field.”

 

“And you’re sure that it’s not going to get sentimental over the girls? The last thing we need in our hands is a malfunctioning Asset.”

 

“Sir, this is the Asset we’re talking about. I’m absolutely certain. You could tell it to kill any of them, now, tomorrow, a year from now, and it would obey without hesitation. Do you want a demonstration?”

 

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary right now.”

 

She shoots. Shoots. Shoots. He stands beside him, still as a statue.

 

The men in suits murmur their approvals as she hits the bullseyes time and the time again. They leave the room.

 

She shifts her stance, puts her weight back onto the wrong foot, lowers her arm deliberately.

 

His hand reaches out and corrects her stance. His fingers tighten around her arm. Release. Tighten again. Let go.

 

She looks at him from the corner of her eye. Meets his eyes.

 

And then, because they are left alone, she has the courage to whisper as quietly as she can, her lips barely even moving, “Papochka.”

 

She knows he can hear it. He can hear everything.

 

He frowns, just the tiniest bit, and looks confused.

 

“Try again.” His voice is soft and gentle.

 

She continues to shoot. Every few minutes she shifts her stance and lets him correct her. His hand is warm and gentle and comforting on her arm every time.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


His head is cocked slightly to the side. She knows that he is listening for his handler to return.

 

His voice is quiet and hesitant, just barely loud enough for her to understand the words. “If they tell me to hurt you, you need to run, little girl.”

 

She keeps looking forward and shooting. “I know. You’ve told me before.”

 

She sees him flinch in her peripheral vision, and there’s raw pain in his voice: “I don’t remember. I don't remember you.”

 

She shifts her weight onto the wrong foot again, and his hand is shaking as it guides her back to the correct position.

 

She can wait. She can remind him again and again. She can bring her Papochka back.

 

He will remember her again. He always does.

**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
2014**

 

She snaps out of her haze. The wonder and confusion turn into sharp fear.

 

_run run run run run run run_

 

She instinctively ducks and darts away from the doorway. She is almost fast enough -- a thrown kitchen knife manages to only scrape her shoulder.

 

She makes the beeline towards the study and _runs._  She can hear him behind him, chasing after her.

 

She is halfway there when he slams her against the wall, and there’s a sharp pain in her abdomen. She screams.

 

The pain is bright, but _she can’t think about it, she has to fight, there’s a knife stabbing her again,_ and she tries to reach her knives but he grabs her arm and _twists_ and she can only _scream._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_“BUCKY, NO! STOP!”_

  


 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the last chapter - I promise that things will get better! *points up towards the tag section* It's really gonna be Hurt/ **Comfort** and Happy Ending, I swear <3 Just... not gonna be exactly an easy journey to it for either of them...

 

 

His hands are covered up in dried blood. It itches on his skin in a familiar way, even though it has been a while since the last time.

 

He’s inside a small, bare room, with no windows and only one door.

  
  
  


What happened?

 

Hundreds of flashbacks of people bleeding on him are all flashing through his messed up head, but they’re all without timestamps or context, just different faces, different wounds, different weapons, and so, so much blood. He has to ignore them, push them away, because they’re not explaining what happened to bring him here, and that’s what he has to find out.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He’s already imagining the worst. Steve and all of the others dead because him. That even though he’s clearly in a lockdown, the backup was there too late.

 

Oh god. It could be Steve’s blood, what if it is, _what if it is._

 

Deep breaths.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He stands up and goes to the door. Tries to open it. It’s locked.

 

He hears someone shuffling behind the door. “Bucky?”

 

It’s Steve. _Fuck_ he’s relieved to hear his voice.

 

He rests his forehead against the door. “What did I do?”

 

“JARVIS, open the door.”

 

Sam’s voice carries from somewhere further away: “Uh, Steve, that’s _not_ what we agreed on...”

 

The door opens.

 

Steve’s not wounded, as far as Bucky can see. Sam is behind him, tensed up and his eyes sharp on Bucky, but alright as well. Now that he can see out the door, Bucky recognizes their floor, and realizes that he’s in their ‘containment room’ -- one of the many safety measurements that they have in their floor, and one that they have never actually needed before.

 

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice is careful.

 

“It’s me.” Bucky takes a deep breath. “Who did I hurt?”

 

Sam shifts behind Steve and looks uneasy. “Steve…”

 

Steve ignores Sam. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

 

He _hates_ that question. It’s even harder to sift through his scrambled brain and to put everything in a proper timeline than it is to sometimes tell the differences between real memories and memories of the dreams or nightmares.

 

He remembers a lot, but usually little of it makes sense. It’s like someone took a book and shook it until all the words slipped from the pages onto the floor, and then asked him to put all of the words back in order. And to somehow know if any of the words were missing or if there were any extras in the mix.

 

But Bucky has got better with it. He has his disoriented moments, but he knows how significant it is that even now, after some obviously pretty disastrous event, he’s able to catch his grip on the reality, that he can recall the year, he can recognize Steve and Sam, he knows they are in the Avengers’ Tower.

 

He pushes and pokes at his brain. “I was cooking something?”

 

Steve nods. “You were preparing dinner. I was painting in my study.”

 

“I was cutting the peppers, and then-”

 

_KILL HER kill her pain death danger DANGER kill her kill her kill her kill her finish her kill her_

  


“Romanov was there.”

 

“Yes. I fucked up.” Steve’s face crumbles. “It was my fault. I knew she was coming, we had talked just before, but then I got distracted and forgot to let you know. She startled you. You reacted bad. But it was my fault.”

 

“No.” His head is pounding. “She didn’t startle me. _She_ did it. She said one of my trigger words.”

 

Steve frowns. Sam’s eyebrows climb up.

 

His stomach is twisting and he’s mentally flagging himself -- he _knew_ she was bad news, he had known for months, but he had _still_ dropped his guard so badly that she was able to sneak up on him. “Steve, she said a fucking _trigger word.”_

 

Steve keeps quiet, his frown deepening.

 

Is he fucking listening at all? Doesn’t he understand what this means? “It was a kill command.”

 

Steve shakes his head slowly. “That makes no sense. Why would she trigger you to kill her?”

 

That gives Bucky a pause. Why would she, indeed?

 

It’s all hazy, but he remembers it. He didn’t hear her until she said something that switched the Soldier in him on. He remembers turning and throwing the knife at her, running after her, slamming her against the wall, _stabbing her,_ getting tackled by Steve, then the Avengers swarming their floor, Steve pinning him against the floor while Sam rushed to tend her wounds-

 

Why would she trigger him to fight her?

 

Then the answer comes to him, and _of course._ “She wanted to make me attack you, but had misunderstood that trigger. She had the wrong word.”

 

That must be it. She has finally showed her true colours, and this is something that Steve won’t be able to deny. If the trigger word had worked differently, like she must have planned for, her long con _could_ have worked, and that thought makes Bucky nauseous.

 

He’d let Steve bully him into accepting her presence inside the Tower, even though Bucky should have never given up fighting on that.

 

He should have ignored Steve and just made sure to eliminate her, no matter what. Steve’s feelings would have been hurt, sure, but Steve can heal from hurt feelings, unlike from _getting murdered_ by that fucking two-faced viper.

 

But _finally,_ Steve has to believe Bucky, even Steve can’t be that much of a dumbass--

 

Bucky looks at him, and Steve is still frowning and not looking betrayed or angry and _is he fucking kidding me--_

 

“Steve _goddammit,”_ Bucky yells and slams his hand against the doorframe. “She used a trigger word on me, and you still think she is your sweet little gal pal?”

 

Steve’s jaw is set and his frown turns into a stubborn, mulish expression.

 

Bucky knows that expression, he knows Steve, and he wants to scream, because that’s the face that Steve carried around all the time during Bucky’s first weeks back -- dead set on defending Bucky, arguing against everyone’s concerns, telling them to back off.

 

But this time it’s not about Bucky -- this is time it’s about Natasha _fucking_ Romanov, who doesn’t deserve that unyielding loyalty and trust.

 

Sam steps forward and telegraphs his movements clearly for Bucky as he puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder slowly. “What about we all sit down and eat something, and talk about this again after, like, _someone’s hands aren’t covered in Nat’s blood still,_ you know.”

 

Bucky looks down at his hands, and his earlier fear over what he might have done turns into frustration. Romanov’s plan misfiring on her and taking her off-guard meant that he had come _so close_ to actually getting rid of her. If only he had been faster, or if Steve had been just a bit slower in getting in between them...

 

He looks back up at them. “Where is she?”

 

Sam gives him a hard look. “Not alone or in any shape to try anything, even if she was the Hitler reincarnated. And no, we _will not_ tell you where she is or let you to go finish the job, so don’t ask that again. Now go wash your fucking hands, man, or I’m gonna ask Steve to carry you to the bathroom and dump you in a bath.”

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I’m not Jewish. I found the song mentioned in this chapter listed in a collection of traditional Jewish lullabies when I was looking for a fitting song. Many of the songs I found were written post-WW2, but this one at least _seemed_ like it could be an older one... plus I really loved the sound of it. Still, I apologize if I’ve missed something profound about it or the translation for the lyrics is incorrect; please correct me if so!

 

 

She wakes up on a stretcher. There’s IV attached to her arm. Someone is pushing the stretcher forward, and the momentum is making her feel ill. She closes her eyes.

 

Someone says something.

 

Clint says from somewhere close, “Stay still, Nat. You got a nasty mosquito bite, so we are taking you to a nice doctor who’s going to fix you up.”

 

She tries to say _‘Don’t try to lie, Barton, I know when my guts are halfway on the floor’,_ but the awareness fades away before she can mumble through it.

 

 

  
  


 

 

 

 

She wakes up again in the medical room. Clint is sitting next to her bed, suit on and the bow resting next to him on the small table. His eyes are on the door, and his fingers are tapping the table in a deceptively calm manner.

 

“Going somewhere?”

 

Clint looks at her, too serious. “Nah. Keeping a watch in case of rabid runaway mutts."

 

She doesn’t remember how she got here, but it’s not hard to piece together by Clint’s tone and by the fact that she’s in the Tower’s medical room. “Don’t let Steve hear you say that.”

 

“Oh, I yelled it at him already. He didn’t like it, but I don’t care.”

 

“You’re awful,” she mutters. Clint never yells. Not unless it’s something really serious. “Why am I here?”

 

“Barnes decided to give you unprescribed acupunction. Luckily Steve was close by, and JARVIS alerted the rest of us so you got help fast. Not his most successful assassination attempt. The guy must be getting seriously rusty.”

  


  
  


 

 

 

 

A week after the incident, her wounds are healing well enough for her to leave the medical room, and Clint takes her to his place outside the city to rest. He says that it’s easier to keep Steve away from trying to harass her about what happened when they are not in the same building, but she is just as glad as him to put some distance between them and the Winter Soldier.

 

They eat. After that they go outside. Natasha sits on the lawn chair and watches Clint playing with Lucky, throwing the ball again and again for the dog.

 

Clint never pushes her and Natasha loves him for that patience. He has always let her come to him on her own pace. Lets her open up when she is ready. Lets her decide when to bring back the ball on her court, even when she takes her time with it.

  


  
  


 

 

 

 

Next day, she sits down next to him while he is carving a dog out of a wood block.

 

Clint looks up and grins, showing her the figure. “What do you say? I was thinking about carving Lucky, but I took out a bit too much. So I guess it’s going to be a greyhound now.”

 

“He was my Papa.”

 

Clint’s smile fades away and he lowers the figure. He looks at Natasha carefully. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay.” Clint nods and looks back down at the figure. He swallows, then resumes the carving. “What are we going to eat?” he asks lightly. “I was thinking about ordering some pizza. Lucky agreed with me, so that’s already two votes for that.”

 

“I was stabbed, so my vote counts for three. I’m making pelmenis with salad.” She stands up and goes inside.

  


  
  


 

 

 

 

Clint comes inside after a few minutes. He comes to stand behind her, rests his chin on her shoulder and his hands lightly on her hips. “Looks good.”

 

“Everything looks good to you.”

 

She can feel him shrug. “As long as it’s food.” He pauses for a moment. “While they were operating on you, I watched the recording of what happened. Then I asked JARVIS to delete it. I didn’t know if you wanted people to know what you called him.”

 

She leans her back against his chest. “Thanks.”

 

“I did record a recording of the record with my phone first though. So. You know, if you need it for anything. To prove that it wasn’t your fault. But nobody is going to see or hear any of it unless you decide so. Steve has been an asshole about what I did, but I’ve told him to fuck off and that you don’t owe him anything until you’ve recovered first.”

 

“I need to tell him the truth of it.”

 

Clint shrugs again. “Well. You don’t need to do it today.” He reaches out for one of the pastries, and she lets him be an uncultured swine for once.

  


 

 

  
  


 

 

They eat the rest of the pelmenis, with radish salad, on the couch, while watching the Dog Cops.

 

Clint’s eyes keep flickering down to the pelmenis.

 

“Whatever is on your mind, you can ask,” Natasha finally says.

 

“It’s ridiculous, but… I keep imagining Winter Soldier teaching you to bake these.”

 

Natasha stares at him for a long moment.

 

“Did he?”

 

She starts to laugh, and it hurts because it pulls at the wound, but it’s the first time she has laughed since the incident.

 

“Nat, _c’mon._ It’s a reasonable question, stop laughing, you’re going to tear your stitches open. _Did he?”_

  


 

 

  
  


 

 

Two days later Natasha texts Steve that she wants to see him. He arrives the same evening. She asks Clint to leave them alone, so he takes Lucky and goes for a long walk with him.

 

She brews tea for them, and puts cookies on the table. Steve sits at the table, radiating frustration over having to had wait for so long for whatever questions he had.

 

She offers him his cup, and then sits down across from him.

 

His eyes flicker to her abdomen. “You’re healing fast.”

 

She shrugs. “Always have. Red Room gave us weak version of serum, something they’d synthesized from Winter Soldier.”

 

At the mention of Winter Soldier, his eyes snap sharply up to meet her eyes. “I want to know your version of what happened that day,” he says firmly.

 

She smiles wrily. “I imagine Barnes is blaming it all somehow on me?”

 

Steve frowns. “And are you telling me it was all his fault?”

 

“No, I won’t.”

 

Steve nods. “Alright. Can you tell me what happened, then?”

 

She sips her tea. “I was going to come straight to your study.”

 

“You should have.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “I _know._ But… I got distracted. I didn’t stop to think before I approached him.”

 

Steve’s frown deepens. “It’s not like you to stop thinking.”

 

She takes another sip, buys herself time. Then she puts her cup down. “He was humming a song. It reminded me of something and brought back some memories that compromised me.”

 

His expression softens. “What song was it?”

 

She looks over Steve’s shoulder and hums a bit of it -- remembers her Papochka shushing her back to sleep with it after a nightmare -- she stops and swallows. “Someone used to sing it to me.”

 

Steve is clearly surprised. [“Lyalkele.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ujnDol_nH2g)” His gaze turns inward. A small smile dances on his lips at some fond memory. “‘Go to sleep, my little doll’. Bucky used to sing it to his little sisters when we were young. And sometimes when-”

 

He stops abruptly and the tops of his ears redden. If the circumstances were any different Natasha would gleefully jump in to rib him _(‘Oh, so your ‘platonic pal Bucky’ used to literally sing to you that you are his little doll? Rogers, you’re an idiot, get your ass already out of that denial.’)._

 

But the circumstances are not different.

 

Steve clears his throat and continues firmly: “It’s a beautiful lullaby. Simple, but beautiful.”

 

“It is.”

 

They sit in silence for a moment, before Steve prompts her: “You said it reminded you of something.”

 

She doesn’t know where to start. How to start unraveling for him the messed up story when even she doesn’t remember all of it clearly.

 

Then she remembers something that Steve had told her, to all of them, and she realizes how true those words had once been for her as well, and knows where to start to make Steve understand. “In the Red Room... Even when I had nothing else, I had my Papochka. It’s… it’s Russian, means dad.”

 

Steve goes still.

 

“He wasn’t my biological father, no, but… He trained me. He covered up my mistakes to protect me. He raised me and took care of me for years. Of course, when I was old enough for the missions, I was made to forget all about him. And he was made to forget me.”

 

They look at each other for a long, silent moment. Steve’s face is, like so often, an open book for her; the range of emotions and micro-expressions from bewilderment to dawning understanding, back to confusion and then to sadness and pity.

 

“Bucky. You mean Bucky.”

 

She remembers his sure hands correcting her stance. She remembers his calm and patient instructions. She detaches herself from those memories and emotions -- because with them rushes also forward the man who has been yelling at her, threatening her for the past months, who has already wounded her twice in the past year with lethal force (first in Belgium and now in the Tower) -- and continues: “They thought Winter Soldier would be incapable of forming attachment or encouraging it from us. Second best to a robot caretaker, that’s what they said.”

 

Steve is looking carefully at her. “But they were wrong.”

 

“Yes. He taught me to be careful and hide, and don’t get me wrong, Winter Soldier wasn’t exactly what one would call an ideal parent. I was very young and he confused me a lot. I was often afraid for him, afraid of what it meant when he returned from absences empty and not remembering me, but… Like I said, even when I had nothing, I had him at least. He took care of me. It usually didn’t take long after his wipes until he knew me again.”

 

Steve looks away with a thousand-yard stare into nothingness, and Natasha can see him going through the past months, going over all of his earlier assumptions.

 

He has never been one to skirt away from being blunt and painfully straight to the point, so she is not surprised when he finally says: “But he doesn’t know you now.”

 

“He doesn’t,” she agrees.

 

“He’s been back for months.”

 

She looks down at her phone on the table, hesitates --

 

\-- because it _hurts;_ a small, childish part of her is still screaming because her Papochka is snatched away from her, and it’s an old, soul twisting pain which she wants to hide back inside her and not let Steve get even a glimpse of it, not let anyone get a glimpse of it, it’s already too much that _Steve knows_ and is going to know forever now, is going to look at her with those pitying eyes  --

 

\-- she unlocks the phone and opens the most recent messages from Barnes, received today. She pushes the phone across the table for Steve. “And he would never believe it.”

  


 

 

 **Barnes:** what lies are you planning to tell everyone?

 

 **Barnes:** you’re a heartless bastard, romanov. steve trusts you and all you do is play him

 

 **Barnes:** you should leave the continent if you want to keep your life, you two faced viper. i’m done humouring everyone. someone will believe me sooner or later and let me out

  


 

 

Steve puts the phone down. He looks up to Nat, his face stubbornly set, like this is just a new wrong in the world that he is going to set right. “He will.”

 

“He won’t, if he hasn’t yet.” She takes her phone back and stands up. “Steve, it’s clear that this isn’t going to go like it went between you and him. _He_ contacted you because a part of him knew you even from a glimpse on TV, after seventy years. Long before any of us knew his identity. Since then, he has seen me, repeatedly, up close. And still, all he wants with me is…” She gestures to her abdomen, where the knife wounds are still healing.

 

Steve frowns. “I don’t understand why.”

 

She smiles without humor and shrugs. “Maybe I was a naive child and kidding to myself when I thought that I was that important to him.”

 

“Don’t say that. You said that he spent years with you, you must have been important-”

 

“Steve,” she interrupts firmly. “I mean that clearly I didn’t leave a lasting impact. It’s fine. I don’t blame him, I don't blame myself. HYDRA had scrambled his brain for years before we met, they kept messing his head all through those years we knew each other, and I’m sure that they didn’t ease up after we were separated. It’s not either of us' fault. And I’m a grown up now. I’ll be forever thankful for everything he did for me when I was young and vulnerable, even if he won’t remember any of it, but I don’t need him anymore.”

 

Steve looks frustrated. “It’s not about having to need each other. Bucky would hate to know that he’s forgotten you. It’s been hard for him to come to terms with how many memories he has lost of his family, that there’s still so much that he doesn’t even know to miss. He’d _hate_ to have something big like this missing as well. He wouldn’t want it so. He would be furious that HYDRA took away his memories of your time together. He would want to remember you.”

 

Steve has his heart in right place, but he’s such a stubborn optimist -- refusing to believe that something can’t be fixed. “Steve. Let it go. He doesn’t trust me, and he’d never believe it. Trying to make him listen to this would only make him mistrust me even more.”

 

Steve looks at her for a long time. “You don’t even want to try to make him listen.”

 

She has to look away from him.

 

“I’m not made of stone, Steve, I only pretend to be,” she says drily. “A week ago _my Papochka_ tried to kill me and almost did it. I’m trying to reconcile in my mind a man from my childhood, whom I’m only starting to remember again myself, with a man who I have had to watch out for for the last months.” She looks back to Steve. “Don’t ask me to lay my heart open and be forced to listen to how he hates me, doesn’t want anything to do with me, and will stop my lies by strangling me dead.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyalkele: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ujnDol_nH2g
> 
> (*whispers*: yes, this _will_ have a proper happy ending, trust me people! <3)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I renamed the fic, sorry for any possible confusion! I never liked the original title _"there was a woman. red hair. who was she?"_ \- it was very generic, simply a placeholder and a quote from part 1 when Bucky mentions Natasha for the first time. I think _"the texting romcom of two very confused nonagenarians"_ (part 1 of series) and _"the happy stabby family reunion in the dementia ward"_ (part 2) fit together much better :D

 

 

**_Monday_ **

  
  
  


Bucky has been under the lockout for over a week. He has been allowed access only to their own floor. It’s driving him crazy.

 

He’s tried to beg, plead and reason with Steve to let him out. Nothing has worked and Steve has remained stubborn.

 

And then today, to top the stupid, Steve told him, out of the blue, that he was going to leave for few hours to meet Natasha. Before Bucky could even react -- because _what the fuck, no no no --_ Steve was out of their floor.

 

Bucky tries to kick the elevator doors open. He throws the couch at the window. Nothing that he hasn’t tried before, truthfully, but _he has to get out._

 

When everything fails, he sends Sam a text message saying that Steve is a moron and needs backup. Tells him to go after him. Sam doesn’t answer him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Bucky has been pacing around for hours when Steve returns. Bucky is relieved to see him uninjured, but he has to take only one look at Steve’s face to know that he believed whatever Romanov had told him.

 

Bucky stills and glares at Steve. “What did she tell you? Why do you believe her over me?”

 

Steve takes his jacket off slowly. When he finally looks at Bucky, his eyes are sad and tired. “It’s not about believing either of you over each other. I believe you genuinely think that she’s a threat.” Steve looks down at his hands. “She isn’t.“

 

Bucky takes a step forward, and doesn’t even try to hide the desperation from his voice. “Steve, I _fucking_ know her. _Please._ If you don’t want me to kill her, can’t we just run away together? I don’t want her near you.”

 

Steve sighs. “You know that’s not an option. Bucky, the thing is, you really, _really_ don’t know her at all.”

 

 _“YES, I FUCKING DO,”_ Bucky yells, because Steve doesn’t understand the deep certainty in his bones.

 

Steve looks up to him, his expression still sad, but a small, confused frown appears between his eyebrows.

 

Bucky swallows back frustrated tears. He’s not going to break down in front of Steve. But fuck, he’s so scared for him. Steve isn’t listening to him and none of this is going to end well. “Take off your clothes.”

 

Steve’s eyes widen and he freezes still. “Uh-”

 

“I’m not going to molest you, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky snaps, his own face heating up as well, and Steve makes an embarrassing noise as he almost chokes on his own tongue.

 

They haven’t talked about it, how during Bucky’s first week back, while he was still disoriented and confused about everything, snapping back and forth between reality and his memories, he had leaned in and kissed Steve. Fucking brain confusing memories and memories of dreams and fantasies.

 

Bucky had still been more Soldier than _Bucky,_ and hadn’t even known enough to be truly embarrassed back then when Steve had stumbled through his explanations for confused Bucky about how it had never been like that between them, but since then Bucky has recovered enough to _never want to talk about it again._

 

Steve is on his way to turn as scarlet as Romanov’s hair. Bucky glares at him. “I need to check your clothes for bugs. And I don’t care how much you don’t want to strip down or how awkward this is, because this isn’t fucking negotiable.”

 

After a lot of embarrassed squealing and whiny mumbling from Steve, Bucky goes to get him his bathrobe, throws it to Steve, and turns his back to him until Steve is out of his clothes. Steve escapes to his own bedroom with a brisk walk borderlining running, and Bucky sets on searching through his clothes for any signs that Romanov has tampered with them.

 

He finds nothing, but that doesn’t prove anything.

 

He wonders how pissed off Steve would be if he burnt the clothes, just in case he missed something.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_Tuesday_ **

  
  
  


Bucky’s been going about this whole Black Widow situation irrationally and he knows it. It’s time to stop and get himself together.

 

The thing is, Romanov isn’t the only one who knows how to play the long con game when needed.

 

Bucky hasn’t befriended people out of malice or bad intentions. He has genuinely enjoyed becoming a part of the Avengers, even when his role is more of a _‘Steve’s secret, hidden away housewife’,_ as Tony gleefully puts it to make Steve flush.

 

Still, he can’t help but know that he’ll get an opportunity to go after Romanov sooner or later. He has already done the hard part of winning over people’s trust to an extent during the past months. He knows it every time Steve or Sam turn their backs to him. (Well, Steve’s a moron and hugged him the second he saw Bucky after the Ellis Island events and Bucky had said it was okay, still all disoriented and confused. Sam had taken longer to warm up to Bucky.)

 

Romanov isn’t stupid. She must know it as well. For whatever reason she is still in the picture and hasn’t tried to take advance of Bucky’s total lockdown. Bucky doesn’t know what’s her goal here, but he must make his move before she can.

 

He doesn’t want to think about what he’ll need to do. Getting rid of Romanov and ensuring that Steve is safe takes the priority.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_Wednesday_ **

  
  


When Bucky steps inside the kitchen, Steve has his _‘I’m working on something very important’_ face on and is scrolling through something on his tablet.

 

“New mission?” Bucky asks and goes to the fridge.

 

Steve makes a noncommittal sound and doesn’t look up from his tablet.

 

Bucky takes out Sam’s orange juice and goes to sit at the table, across from Steve. “Hey Steve. I’ve been thinking…”

 

Steve looks finally up from his tablet. He smirks, but his face is tense and shows the strain from all the fighting between them in the past week. “Yeah? Hope it didn’t hurt.”

 

Bucky kicks him lightly under the table. “I’ve been thinking, and… I think you’re right. I might have been too harsh in judging Romanov so fast. I’m not saying I trust her, yet, but…” Bucky shrugs.

 

Steve starts to slowly smile. Bucky feels awful.

 

Bucky leans forward and crosses his arms on top of the table, and continues firmly: “I’m still not okay with her coming to our floor anymore. Ever. I’m just saying that… I’m starting to see your point.”

 

“Of course,” Steve says, with sad yet hopeful eyes. “I’m glad that you’re ready to pretend that you don’t want to get rid of her.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m not _pretending_ anything. Honestly, I’d love it if she just disappeared, but… I’ve thought about it and you’re right. She has had a lot of opportunities to hurt you, and she hasn’t. Maybe you’re right and what happened was an accident. After all, she was the only one who got hurt, so…”

 

Steve’s smile widens. “Yeah, you’re right. And I’m happy to pretend that I don’t know what you’re trying to do. I’m kinda tired of fighting about her with you.”

 

A part of Bucky is relieved that Steve is not naive enough to believe him that easily. A part of him wants to fess up and respond with a smirk and _‘So happy to pretend that you would kindly lend me a machine gun and ask JARVIS to let me out of our floor to do some pest control?’_

 

But to silence that part of himself, Bucky only needs to imagine for a second Steve lying on the ground, lifeless and Romanov’s knife in his throat.

 

Bucky smiles a sad little smile and shakes his head. “I understand why you think that I’m trying to pull your leg. I’ll just have to prove that I’m being serious.”

 

Steve snorts. “Sure, Buck. Sorry, but that’s going to take a long time. Be ready to pretend for awhile.” Steve frowns. “Bucky, I _am_ sorry about this lockdown. I promised to you to make sure that you’d have your freedom, and instead…”

 

Bucky waves him off. “Shut up, Steve. I get it, I tried to kill your friend, you lot want to make sure it won’t happen again. Well, if you’re right about her, I might actually thank you for this one day. And hey, it’s not like I’m free to wander around the city anyway. Not when everyone knows my face and Pepper is only barely able to keep new investigations away from the Tower.”

 

Steve is still frowning, but seems a bit relieved. “Thank you. This… This hasn’t been easy for me. To keep you here against your will.”

 

Looking at Steve’s pained and regretful face, Bucky realizes that he could have used that angle to get Steve to release him. He could have continued to scream and yell at Steve for locking him down. He could have compared him to HYDRA and all the agencies around the world who were looking for him to lock him down or worse.

 

It could have even worked. If Bucky could have stomached hurting Steve that bad with his words.

 

Bucky couldn’t. Steve would blame himself for the rest of his life for killing Natasha, if he gave in and let Bucky out knowing what would happen. It wouldn’t be a physical death, but it would something that Steve would never recover from.

 

Bucky couldn’t do that to him. Not when he has options still. Gaining Steve’s trust on this and breaking it will hurt Steve, and Steve might never again trust him, and Steve would still blame himself, but it would be to at least a tiny bit lesser degree.

 

Bucky nudges Steve’s leg under the table and nods towards the tablet, wanting to change the subject. The long con game is on; it’s going to take time before Steve relaxes enough to drop his guard about preventing Bucky’s escape. Bucky is going to take all he can from this time together, before he has to do something drastic. “So what’s the mission about?”

 

Steve looks also glad for the change of subject. “Not a mission. Just looking for something new to watch.”

 

Bucky raises his eyebrow. One, Steve usually let Bucky pick up what to watch, and two, Steve’s expression earlier when he had scrolled through his tablet had _not_ been _‘Oh, casually searching for something fun to watch later on Netflix’._

 

“Oh? And did you find anything?” Bucky asks lightly.

 

Steve’s jaw sets in a stubborn way, and his steely will fires up his eyes, even though he smiles brightly as if he could fool Bucky. “I think so,” he says earnestly and lightly, as if this clearly wasn’t something important to him. “I was looking for something fun to watch and decompress with. I found this sitcom from few years ago.” He takes his tablet to his hand and after some clicking around offers it to Bucky. “I was thinking we could make some food and watch it. I wasn’t lying when I said that I’m tired of fighting with you. Can we just forget about the past couple of weeks for this one evening?”

 

Steve is up to something. Bucky can see it clear as day. He takes the tablet from Steve and looks down to a paused youtube trailer of something called ‘Suburgatory’.

 

Bucky looks up to Steve, who’s faking casual so bad that Bucky wants to laugh.

 

But. Bucky is tired of fighting with Steve as well. And food and watching whatever it is together sounds nice. Also, he’s curious to figure out what Steve’s playing at.

 

Bucky shrugs and puts the tablet down on the table. He stands up. “Sounds good. What do you say about making some burgers?”

 

Steve’s eyes flicker down to the tablet. “You don’t wanna check what I picked?”

 

Bucky grins. He pauses on his way past Steve towards the freezer, standing next to Steve, who’s still sitting down at the table. “I trust it’s gonna be something awful with your taste.” He lets his grin turn into a genuine smile and he raises his hand to squeeze Steve’s shoulder. “But I’m tired of fighting with you as well. So I don’t care what it’s about. Let’s just watch it.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to Suburgatory trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8KQCgeiXps
> 
> I haven't watched the series (yet), only the trailer, so I know exactly as much as Steve does when he suggests watching it: it's a sitcom series about a single father and his red haired, sassy teenager daughter ;)


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

**_Monday_ **

   
  
Clint returns with Lucky a few minutes after Steve left, not bothering to pretend that he wasn’t watching the house the whole time.

 

She makes more tea for herself. Clint comes over to drop a kiss on her temple, and then leaves her alone. She appreciates it.

 

She sits down at the kitchen table and warms her hands with the cup.

 

Rationally, she knows that Barnes is under the lockdown in the Avengers’ Tower. Irrationally, she keeps expecting to see him at the corner of her eye. Standing outside the window.

 

Steve knows now where she is. She trusts him, but…

 

It’s hard to shake of the paranoia, sometimes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s later -- she doesn’t know how much later -- when she hears Clint get up from the couch and come to the kitchen.

 

He leans against the doorframe and takes his time before he says: “Tasha, let’s go.”

 

“Where?”

 

Clint shrugs. “Where do you want to go? Tony has that new mansion in Florida. Wanna break in there and see how long we can stay there undetected? Lucky loves pools.”

 

“The whole place is linked to JARVIS.”

 

“So? Extra challenge. I say we can stay undetected for at least ten seconds.”

 

“How ambitious.”

 

“That’s who I am. Mister Ambitious.”

 

She thinks about it. It’s been awhile since they’ve gone somewhere, just the two of them. Or three of them, if Lucky is counted. “Sure.”

 

Neither of them mentions how Florida is even farther away from the Winter Soldier than Clint’s place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_1972_ **

 

“When will you take me on a mission with you?”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“I want to come with you.”

 

“No.”

 

“But I’m good.”

 

A hint of a smile. “Yeah, you are.”

 

“I’ll be your getaway driver.”

 

A proper smile. “Sure, kid. Hey, eyes on the road.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_Tuesday_ **

 

They leave at one AM. Lucky is excited; he loves cars.

 

Clint drives while Natasha starts to search for any and all available intel on Tony’s mansion. It’s fun. Almost like a lowkey mission.

 

“How was Steve?” Clint asks, his eyes on the road, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel in rhythm with the music.

 

“Steve was… Steve. Earnest. Optimist.” Natasha snorts. “Wants to believe everything will turn out oh so jolly.”

 

Clint nods and stays silent for a minute. “Nat, tell me off if you still don’t want to talk about it, but… What exactly is the deal between you and Barnes?”

 

She sighs. “It’s okay. I don’t want to _not_ talk about him, you know? It’s not that complicated, really, just… caught me off guard and I needed some time to process. I knew him when Red Room had us. Both of us forgot. I remembered. Barnes doesn’t.”

 

“And you’re all fine with it,” Clint says drily. “Yeah, yeah, no need to give me that look. Why is he so after your blood then?”

 

“I don’t know,” she says and doesn’t want to think about it. She _is_ fine with it all. As long as she doesn’t think about it too much.

 

“It’s been bugging me since I saw that recording of what happened between you two. It was like… it looked like both of you were under some sort of trance, to be honest.”

 

Natasha frowns. “What do you mean?”

 

Clint shakes his head, his eyes on the dark road. “If you can handle watching it, I’ll show you when we stop at the motel. You didn’t just spook him. I compared the recording to the first time you startled him. You remember, that time in gym? This was different. He blanked out as soon as you spoke. He didn’t stop fighting even when Steve got in between you two, and Steve had to actually restrain him because he couldn't get through to him at all. Steve claimed that Barnes didn’t remember anything at first of what happened when he came back to himself.”

 

_желание, ржавый, семнадцать, рассвет-_

 

 

 

 

She nods slowly. “Yeah, show it to me when we stop.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_1974_ **

 

“Get up, girl. We’re going on a mission.”

 

“Papochka?”

 

“Shush. You need to be quiet. And do everything I say.”

 

She nods. The room is dark, but she knows that he can see it.

 

He pushes a bottle in her hands. “Drink it. Calories. Caffeine.”

 

She can hear the click of his gun as he reloads it. Then he ruffles her hair. He’s never done it before. It startles her.

 

“I’ll go wake your sisters. You gotta stay sharp, kid. You know how to drive?”

 

“You taught me.”

 

A pause. “Okay. Good. You’re gonna be our backup driver, if I need to get up to shoot.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_Tuesday_ **

 

They stop at the motel at eight AM. Natasha goes to get them breakfast while Clint lets Lucky out of the car to run around and stretch his legs.

 

When they've got inside their rented room and they’ve eaten, he shows her from his phone the recording of the day when Barnes stabbed her.

 

She watches it, couple of times. She pauses the video.

 

She recognizes the way his face slacks when she speaks. She’s… confused.

 

Clint is sitting next to her on the bed, their thighs touching. He’s looking at her face closely. “You know what is it?”

 

“He… He had trigger words,” she says slowly. “The handlers were able to control him with them.”

 

Clint frowns and his eyes flicker to the phone, where the paused video shows the knife flying towards Natasha. “I assume ‘Papochka’ wasn’t one of them.”

 

“No. It wasn’t.”

 

They sit in silence. After long minutes, Clint clears his throat. “Well. Looks like it is now.”

 

She doesn’t respond.

 

Clint shoves his phone back into his pocket. His voice is too gentle when he continues: “If they turned the word into a trigger word--”

 

She stands up abruptly. Too fast, because it makes her stab wound sting. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she says in a sharp voice, avoiding looking at Clint. “This doesn’t change anything.” She goes to the bathroom.

 

She knows she’s being a pain in the ass for Clint. She just told him that talking about Barnes was not off limits.

 

She needs a minute to gather herself. Then she’ll apologize.

 

She starts to take off her clothes. Shower sounds like a good idea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_1974_ **

 

They don’t get away. There’s a fight. Papochka’s shots find their targets, until his handler gets close enough to say the words that make him freeze still.

 

She tries to make a run, but he helps them catch her. His eyes are blank and there’s no recognition in them. She doesn’t have time to bring him back.

 

The men in suits tell Papochka to shoot his handler, the one who swore that the experiment wouldn’t backfire. He does it without flinching. They declare the experiment a disappointing failure and tell him that back in the base the girls would be the next. He just stands there, doesn’t try to fight back when one man slaps his face and tells him how he's going to be the one ordered to strangle them all, that it's going to be his punishment.

 

When they all get back to the base, she expects to die. Instead, she is brought to a big chair. As they strap her in it, she can hear screams echoing from somewhere in the labyrinth of hallways and thick walls of the base.

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

**_Wednesday_ **   
  


It doesn’t take long for Bucky to see why Steve chose ‘Suburgatory’ for them to watch. Picking up a show with a red haired, snarky teenage girl as the main character is not subtle in the slightest.

 

Bucky would be irritated if not for how clearly Steve didn’t properly research the show beforehand. There’s a lot more tits and predatory middle aged women after the girl’s single father than Steve expected, judging from his twitching and increasingly red face.

 

Okay, who is Bucky kidding? He  _ is  _ still irritated that Steve is set on pushing his agenda. Is he trying to get Bucky to sympathize with the whiny girl and in association with the poor,  _ oh so misunderstood _ Natasha Romanov? Well, fuck that plan. Bucky is full-heartedly rooting for the girl’s dad, who is only doing his best to protect the little brat from the vices of the big city. He remembers what it was like to be an older brother for three little sisters.

 

“I could have found us better soft porn if that’s what you wanted,” Bucky remarks mildly, as a bunch of lusty women in bikinis fill the screen again.

 

Steve is looking like he's ready to combust. “I didn’t know this would be so…"

 

"21st century?"

 

"Exactly. Let’s watch something else?”

 

“If you want to,” Bucky says and relaxes into the cushions. “I was just starting to enjoy it.” He wiggles his eyebrows a little.

 

Steve snorts, and shakes his head. “Do you even--” He stops abruptly.

 

Bucky tenses, not liking that familiar awkwardness on Steve’s face. “Do I even what?”

 

“Nevermind,” Steve mutters. “Is Star Trek alright with you? You said you’d want to check it out with me when we have time.”

 

“Sure,” Bucky says.

 

Steve asks JARVIS to change the show. 

 

Star Trek is alright, but the awkwardness and tension linger as painful static between them.

 

They may not be arguing outright about Romanov, for the first time for a good while, but nothing is really resolved either. It’s like they dumped a trash can under a rug and agreed to not talk about the toxic smell that still fills the air everywhere around them.

 

There are too many things hanging between them, left unspoken.

 

_ “What were you trying to say with that show? Is that how you view Romanov, as your little sister, as someone you need to protect, Steve? Will you ever forgive me after she’s dead?”  _

 

_ “Will this situation ever be over? Will I ever be able to trust you to not harm my friend, Bucky? What will we do?” _

 

_ “When will you decide that I’m too much, Steve?” _

 

_ “Do you even want women like that, or were all your dates, all your girls, just for a show and I fell for it?”  _

 

Bucky misses how things were months ago. Sure, he was confused and afraid, but things with Steve were simple right after he came back. He feels like the more he has recovered, the more complex things have become. 

 

Everything was easy -- he loved Steve, he trusted him, he wanted to stay close to him, he wanted to protect him. Steve was on his side without a question.

 

But the more Bucky has reclaimed of himself, the less easy things have become. How much more strain will their friendship be able to take?

 

Bucky locks the worry away in his mind. It’s fruitless to wallow on that.   
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_Thursday_ **

 

When Steve gets up in the unholy hour, Bucky is already in the kitchen, hunched over a cup of coffee. He slept poorly. The nightmares plagued him all through the night, and he kept waking up shivering and sweaty.

 

In the last one -- the vivid one that made him gag when he woke up, and which finally made him get out of the bed and not even try to get more rest -- he was wading through the waist high lake of thick blood. There were bodies floating all around him, but he didn’t even care, they were just mild annoyance while he was trying to teach some faceless, nameless kids to swim. 

 

The children, dozen or so, were all laughing carefree, pushing the floating, rotting bodies from their way while playing, each one of them covered in blood and guts from submerging underwater. Bucky tried to hush them, tell them to keep quiet. He was afraid that the floating bodies would wake up and devour them all.

 

He blames the dream on the incident with Romanov, and how that stupid show with a teenage girl yesterday reminded him of his little sisters, and how his head loves mixing everything up and torturing him with fresh new nightmares created of the bits and pieces inside his mind.

 

Steve’s face falls when he sees Bucky already up. “Rough night?” he asks quietly, while getting himself a cup of coffee.

 

“Mhm.”

 

Steve rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, squeezes. “You should have woke me up.”

 

Bucky shakes his head and looks down at his coffee. “Wasn’t too bad. Just nightmares.”

 

It’s not a lie. His nights were worse for awhile right after he arrived to the Tower. He spent his first few weeks in Steve’s bed, and neither of them got a lot of sleep. Last night was easy compared to those nights, when he slipped between the dreams and the memories and the reality, and Steve was having a hard time keeping his own guilt at bay  _ (“I should have got to you earlier. How many nights did you spend alone, hiding from the Hydra, confused and delirious?” “I don’t know, I’m sorry, I don’t remember--” “Bucky, oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were awake--”). _

 

Bucky misses having Steve close by after waking up from nightmares, though. But he knows how uncomfortably awkward Steve has felt about certain things after Bucky tried to kiss him. Once Bucky gained enough of himself to be aware of it and how he had messed the things between them, he has slept in his own bedroom.

 

Steve lets go of his shoulder. “Alright,” he says unhappily. 

 

Bucky almost smiles -- Steve, finally learning not to push? -- but then Steve continues: “But I mean it, Buck. You can wake me up, anytime, if you need me. If there’s anyway I can help…”

 

“I know, Steve. Stop fussing,” Bucky says firmly, although not unkindly.   
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_Friday_ **

 

Steve’s sketchbook is on the kitchen counter. Steve has never minded it when Bucky checks out his latest doodles and sketches, so Bucky bites into the apple and with his other hand flips the book open without a second thought. 

 

He flips through the pages of himself, of their floor, of Avengers.

 

He pauses when he gets to most recent drawings. There’s one of Soldier who’s holding the hand of a little--

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“--cky?”

 

Steve is kneeling in front of him, his face at the same level.

 

Bucky’s head is pounding. Every little twitch and movement is like a knife slicing his brain in half. “Huh?” he gets out, and even that hurts.

 

“What happened?”

 

Bucky tries to say  _ ‘I don’t know’,  _ but it comes out as a slurred groan. He closes his eyes.

 

“JARVIS, what happened here?”

 

“Sergeant Barnes was looking at your sketches, sir. He then tore your sketchbook apart and proceeded to destroy the kitchen. He didn’t respond to my inquiries, so I alerted you. He collapsed while you were on the elevator.”

 

“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles.

 

“No, Bucky.  _ I’m  _ sorry, I shouldn’t have left those sketches lying around like that.”

 

Bucky looks down. His lap and the floor around him is covered in shredded paper. With a bang, he thinks of all the drawings, sketched with care and love, that are now lost because of him. “I don’t know what happened.”

 

“Just… stay still, alright? Your nose is bleeding, I’ll get some tissues--”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_Saturday_ **

 

Bucky wakes up, his throat hoarse from screaming. He’s being held down in a tight lock, and the panic fills his mind until he realises it’s just Steve.

 

“--is okay, you’re safe, it was just a dream,” Steve is whispering.

 

Bucky relaxes his muscles and stops fighting against the hold.

 

“Bucky, are you with me?”

 

“Yeah,” he grunts. 

 

Steve releases the tight lock, but doesn’t let go of him -- just turns it into a hug. “I’m sorry. You were hurting yourself. Pulling your hair. I had to stop you.”

 

“It’s okay, don’t apologize,” Bucky says, exhausted.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says quietly. “This is my fault. I should have been more careful and not leave my sketchbook--”

 

“Don’t,” Bucky says with a sigh. “Didn’t we agree that it’s all Hydra’s fault?”

 

Steve’s fingers comb through Bucky’s grossly sweaty hair. “Yes,” Steve says, with a tone that clearly says  _ but I’m still going to blame myself anyway. _

 

Bucky closes his eyes. He doesn’t ask Steve to leave, and Steve doesn’t ask if he wants him to leave. 

 

Bucky spends the rest of the night drifting between being awake and almost asleep. Steve’s comforting presence feels so good, but it’s not enough to make him feel safe to dive back to face his stormy subconscious and horrific dreams. He doesn't remember what his dream was about. He doesn't want to.

 

 

 

 


End file.
